


fix this

by Areiton



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Recovery, Siblings, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: “I don’t know how to fix this,” he says, voice small, and Rhodey sighs. Sits next to him and knocks a knee into Tony’s.“I don’t think you can, genius.”
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 198





	fix this

**Author's Note:**

> This deals with past sexual assault. No assault is depicted on screen, and all occurrences happened several years ago. Please be careful, reading.

Peter goes to bed first, red-rimmed eyes and hands tight little balls in his sweatshirt, and Harley--Harley pauses at the door, looking back at Tony, worry in his gaze. Knowing, and worried and sad. 

“You can’t blame yourself for this one, Tony,” he says, and it stings a little. 

Neither of them have called him  _ Tony _ in months. 

He nods, forces a smile. “Go to bed, Tinker-tot.” 

Making a face, the boy goes. 

He’ll end up in Pete’s room before dawn, or maybe Peter will crawl into his, web himself a nest in the corner the way he does when nightmares come and he doesn’t want to bother his brother. 

Either way, he knows his sons will find each other, and comfort in each other, before the night’s through. 

He cleans up around the penthouse, puts Peter’s books in a stack by his computer and Harley’s shoes near the elevator, and finally, when he’s fairly confidant that his sons aren’t going to come looking for him, he retreats down to his workshop. 

~*~ 

It goes for three days, like that. 

During the day, he’s smiling and supportive, the attentive dad his sons deserve. He makes dinner and ships Peter off to school and Harley shadows Pepper, and they come back together for dinner in the evenings, spilling out the day with food and Harley’s incessant chatter drawing out Peter’s smile like a sunbeam. 

Peter is quieter than normal, and he comes home from his patrol bleeding two nights in a row, but he smiles at Tony, and his eyes aren’t red-rimmed and he isn’t demanding any more or less affection than usual. 

He’s  _ fine.  _ Harley is  _ fine.  _

So why the hell does it feel like Tony’s world is falling apart? 

~*~ 

He isn’t actually surprised, when Rhodey shows up, on day five, with a bottle of Scotch and a thin police report. He looks at it for a long time, and then sighs. “Who told you?” 

“Peter,” he says, and that startles Tony because Peter was the one who  _ didn’t _ want to talk about it, who cried when he told Tony and then ran from the conversation even when Harley calmly said,  _ me too.  _

_ “ _ He’s worried about you, Tones. They both are.” 

And how is  _ that _ for a kick in the gut. They shouldn’t be worried about  _ him _ . They shouldn’t be worried about anything, ever, and never about  _ Tony.  _

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says, voice small, and Rhodey sighs. Sits next to him and knocks a knee into Tony’s. 

“I don’t think you can, genius.” 

~*~ 

He doesn’t get drunk, despite the urge. Neither boy likes it when he drinks, and Rhodey takes the Scotch with him. 

He doesn’t read the file either. “You read it, right?” he asks his best friend, their uncle in every way that matters and Rhodey nods. “Then I don’t need to. I don’t want to know anything more than what they want me to know.” 

Rhodey is quiet, a long time, and then. “You will get through this, Tones. I know right now, you’re angry and you want to fix it, and you feel helpless--but you will get through it. Just take care of your boys. I’ll take care of this.” 

He nods, and Rhodey dropped a kiss on his hair, before he swept towards the door, promising to return for Saturday night dinner. 

Peter was cooking. 

It makes Tony smile, thinking about it. About his kids, about the life they’d carved out for and with each other, about the way Harley still protected and watched out for Peter, even now that they were out of the system and safely in Tony’s care, even now that Peter had his powers and strength. 

They’re good kids, and this--this one horrible thing he hates down to his bones--won’t break them. 

~*~ 

The next morning, he stops them. “If you want to talk about this--I’m here. Any time, any place. Got it?” 

Harley offers him exasperated impatience, but the hand squeezing his shoulder says what his emotionally stunted oldest won’t. Peter’s eyes get watery and he ducks his head and mumbles something before he darts in to hug Tony, and then runs for the elevator. 

It’s not enough, but he doesn’t know that it’ll ever be  _ enough _ . 

It’s a start. 

~*~ 

Sometimes, he catches Harley eyeing a stranger, distrust writ clear across his face, angling himself between them and Pepper and it makes him  _ hurt. _

Sometimes, Peter will flinch away from his touch, curl into himself until Harley or time convinces him he’s safe. 

Sometimes, Tony has nightmares, and wakes screaming, with the taste of blood and bile in his mouth and images of his boys seared across his eyelids and throws up, shivering and crying. 

But only sometimes. 

~*~ 

They’re at a gala, when it happens. 

Rhodey is across the room, with Pepper and Tony is introducing Harley and Peter to a senator from Colorado, and he’s suddenly  _ there _ , impossibly, close enough to touch, his cologne sickeningly thick in the air and Tony--Tony breaks. 

He drags Harley and Peter back, ignoring the way Harley protests, shoving at his sons until they’re corralled behind him, away from Ty, with his hard heavy hands and his fucking cologne and everything he can do to  _ hurt. _

Ty is grinning at him, and Peter’s hands are pressing against his back, and Harley is sharp and clear in his ear, and Rhodey--

Rhodey pushes past Ty, fills up his vision as Pepper’s voice cuts through the gala, drowns out whatever  _ he _ was saying, and he bites back the snarl that wants to rise, when Rhodey catches his wrists. 

“C’mon, genius,” Rhodey says, that soothing murmur that has always always meant  _ safe _ and Tony blinks. 

They’re in a corner, his boys are  _ safe _ and--”Is he gone?” he asks, bone dry and Rhodey nods. 

~*~ 

He tells them in fits and starts, while Peter is curled against his side and Rhodey stands across the room, stone faced, and Harley sits apart. 

“He was never prosecuted,” Tony says, “Howard didn’t want the bad press and we were dating so it  _ couldn’t _ be assault.” 

Rhodey snarls, wordless and Tony flicks a look at him, grateful. “But he did keep Ty away from me. And over the years, with help from my family and therapy--I’ve accepted it for what it was.” 

“What?” Harley asks, quietly. 

Tony blinks at him. “Rape. He raped me. And it wasn’t my fault.” 

Against his side, Peter shudders and clings tighter. 

Harley gets up, and walks away. 

~*~ 

He wakes up, screaming, most nights. He finds Peter webbed into a nest in the corner of his room, and Harley working himself into exhaustion, and Rhodey moves into his bedroom for almost a month, but Peter laughs, sometimes, and Harley stops flinching away from his touch, and he sleeps the night through, and he thinks, maybe. 

Maybe they’ll be ok. 

~*~ 

Harley sits next to him while they wait for Peter to finish his decathlon tournament, and he nods at a pot-bellied man with dirty hair and obnoxious sunglasses. “I always thought they looked like that,” he says. “But Skip looked like Johnny’s older brother.” 

Tony’s heart pounds in his throat, and Harley shifts, away from him, standing to greet Peter. 

~*~ 

“He wore Old Spice,” Peter says, one night, after he and Tony piece the suit back together, and Harley scolds him for slamming into a goddamn building, Pete, what the  _ hell _ ? 

“The guy?” Harley asks, soft and Tony looks between them. Peter nods. 

“Skip wore Old Spice,” he says, like that is all the explanation needed. 

Maybe, he thinks, it is. 

~*~ 

“Did you get rid of him?” Harley asks, point blank, one night around three am. Peter is snoring on the couch in the corner of the workshop, and the engine they’ve been fucking with doesn’t actually  _ need _ anything, but it’s keeping their hands busy. 

“No,” he says, honestly. “I wanted to. But I let Rhodey handle it.” 

“Why?” Harley asks, starbright hurt and he puts down the wrench, looks his son in the eye, because he needs Harley to hear this. 

He needs him to  _ know  _ it. 

“Because my job isn’t hurting the bastard who hurt you. It’s being right here, to help you heal.” 

Harley stares at him for a long time, and then ducks his head, tears spilling over and landing on the polished metal while he goes back to work. 

~*~ 

Peter sits across from him, hands fisted in his sweatshirt, eyes red-rimmed and determined. He can see Harley, lingering in the kitchen, present but aloof. 

“I wanna tell you about Skip,” Peter says, almost defiantly. 

His heart pounding, Tony closes his book. He can’t fix this. He knows he can’t. Skip broke something in them, and all he can do now, years later, is help them learn to live with the damage in the best way possible. 

He can’t fix it. 

But he can listen. 

“Ok,” he says, and Peter begins to talk. 


End file.
